The Bride Wore Starlight

by Lizbeth Selvig

  Rory shook his head and squeezed Mia’s hand again.

  “As you can see,” she said, curtly, “the child is still fearful and a little traumatized. Perhaps in this case you and I could switch roles? I’ll stay with my patient, and you’ll make a better sleuth with Darren?”

  Dr. Wilson’s mouth tightened, and he drew his shoulders back as if prepping for a confrontation. In that instant, the sense of recognition—the confrontation if not the chauvinism—she’d had earlier flashed into unexpected clarity.

  Gabriel Harrison.

  Her stomach flipped crazily. Fiftyish Dr. Fred Wilson didn’t look a bit like the arrogant, self-important, patient advocate she’d met six weeks before at the VA medical center in her old home city of Jackson, Wyoming. In truth, nobody who wasn’t making seven figures as a big-screen heartthrob looked like Gabriel Harrison. The trouble was, just as Dr. Wilson knew he was good, Lieutenant—retired Lieutenant—Harrison knew he was gorgeous. Both men believed they had the only handle on expertise and information.

  She’d met Harrison after a car accident in the middle of September had left her mother and one of her sisters seriously injured, and he’d been assigned as a liaison between them, their families, and the hospital. He’d made himself charming—like a medicine show snake oil salesman—and her sisters, all five of them, now adored him. Her mother considered him her personal guardian angel. However, he’d treated Mia like she’d gotten her degree from a Cracker Jack box, and he continued doing so in all their correspondence—which was frequent considering how he loved ignoring her requests for information.

  Mia was glad that at her planned trip home for Christmas, her mother and sister would be home and Gabriel Harrison, patient advocate, would be long gone from their lives. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t work quite so easily with Fred Wilson. She was stuck more or less permanently with him.

  “I want Dr. Mia to stay.”

  Rory’s fingers tightened on her hand, and the last vestiges of memories from Wyoming slipped away.

  “That settles it in my opinion,” she said. “At my patient’s request, I’ll stay with him. Darren, would you be willing to accompany Dr. Wilson to the lounge and ask some questions about the food? Arlene, would you please get Mr. Beltane here a glass of juice and maybe some ice?”

  “Yes,” Darren said. “Sure.”

  “Of course,” Arlene replied, with the first smile Mia had seen from her.

  Fred Wilson, on the other hand, looked as if he might need the Heimlich maneuver. “If I might have a word with you outside, Dr. Crockett.”

  She met his gaze coolly. “Rory, I need to help Dr. Wilson with some things, but I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  “No.”

  “I promise, honey.” She smoothed the child’s hair back and he nodded, his eyes shining.

  Dr. Wilson patted Rory on the shoulder a final time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, young man. You may even get to go home. Bet you’d like that.”

  Rory gave an anemic shrug.

  She slipped out of the room with Fred Wilson behind her, took several steps away from the door, and spun to face him.

  “Would you care to explain what this is about?” she demanded.

  “Dr. Crockett, I have heard your reputation as the wonder child of this medical community,” Wilson said. “But in this department you have no seniority, and a fast track to the top is not impressive. No matter how good you are technically, nothing can take the place of years of experience. And just because you wear a stethoscope and have been in this physical location longer than I have, doesn’t mean you possess anywhere near the experience I do. You were insubordinate in front of the patient and my staff. I won’t have that.”

  She didn’t blink or raise her voice. She put her hands in her lab coat pockets to keep from showing her flexing fingers. “In point of fact, Dr. Wilson, you treated me like a first-year intern in there, even though I am the lead medical staff member in this matter. I also have the trust of the patient, and you ignored that along with his wishes. I treated you with the respect you commanded. It’s not my style to kiss up to anyone or brown nose a superior to make my way. Good medicine is all I care about. You or one of your hospital staff docs will handle his care in regard to his recent appendectomy, but at the moment, because he is still in a little bit of shock, that is secondary to aftercare from the anaphylaxis. I didn’t appreciate you not bowing to my expertise or asking me to debrief you—even if I didn’t just come from Johns Hopkins.”

  “You take a pretty surly tone.”

  “I apologize.”

  For a long moment he assessed her, and finally he shook his head. “I don’t like your style, Doctor. But the staff thinks highly of your skill. We’ll let this slide because the child did request your presence.”

  “I don’t love your style either.” She smiled. “But I’ve heard the staff thinks highly of your bedside manner. I hope we can grow to understand each other better as we are required to work together.”

  “I hope that’s so.” He nodded curtly and left.

  Why were older doctors so prejudiced when it came to believing surgeons knew their stuff? Mia was tired of dealing with the game playing and politics of staff. What was wrong with just being a damn-good physician?

  She let herself back into Rory’s room, and he smiled with relief. “How are you, kiddo?” she asked. “Do your stitches or anything inside your tummy hurt?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t want Dr. Wilson to stay and examine you. Do you not like him?”

  “He’s nice.”

  That stymied her. “Then why—?”

  “He didn’t have nothin’ to do with making me better,” Rory interrupted. “Only you and Dr. Thomas who took out my appendix. And . . . you . . . ” His huge, dark eyes brimmed with tears that clung to his lashes like diamonds but didn’t spill.

  “I what, Rory?”

  “You saved me. And I want you to save Jack.”

  “Jack?” A slice of new panic dove through her stomach. She knew Jack. “Your cat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why does Jack need saving?”

  “Buster has him,” he said. “But Mrs. Murray, the foster lady, she said I couldn’t bring him with me ’cause she’s allergic to cats. And Buster said he’d keep him for a while, but he can’t keep him forever because mostly the shelters won’t let him have a cat neither.”

  A slight dizziness started her head spinning. “Who’s Buster?”

  “I lived with him awhile after my mama got taken away.”

  “Where does Buster live?”

  “Everywhere,” he said and Mia’s stomach slowly started to sink. “He’s my best friend. Sometimes he goes to the shelter by the church in Brownsville. Sometimes he lives under the bridge by the East River. Sometimes he stays in the camp with his friends.”

  “Rory? Is Buster a homeless man?”

  “Buster says he doesn’t want a normal house. He says he owns the whole city of New York, and he should ’cause he fought for it. But Jack does need a house ’cause it’s going to snow pretty soon, and he’ll freeze. So . . . will you save him like you saved me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if . . . ”

  She thought about all the animals she’d had growing up on one of the biggest cattle ranches in Wyoming. Until leaving for college she’d never imagined that some kids might not have pets. No dogs, no cats, no horses.

  “Please? Jack’s the only one left who really loves me.”

  “That’s so not true, Rory. I know it’s not true.” She sighed and sat next to him on the mattress. “I love you. I’m your friend, right? And your mom loves you so much.”

  “Mrs. Murray, the foster lady, said Mom was too sick to be a good mother. ’Cause she’s in the hospital, too.”

  “Again?” Mia stared at him, heartbroken. “Rory, since when? What happened?”

  “I don’t know when. Before I came here. I tried to call her to tell her I was sick, but she wasn’t at the jail.�
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  For the past three months, Monique Beltane had resided in a women’s prison in upstate New York where she was serving one year for theft and illegal possession of a narcotic. She was also living through treatment for breast cancer.

  “That’s not true, Rory. Your mom will never be too sick to love you. And she’s a good mom, too. She’s just been sick for such a long time.”

  Mia knew Monique’s story well. She’d become addicted to prescription opioids after botched shoulder surgery. One year after that operation, Mia had been the one to operate again and managed to relieve some of Monique’s permanent pain. During the three years that had followed, she’d kept in touch with Monique and her son, Rory. She liked the woman, plain and simple. Monique wanted to get well. She was just weak when it came to pain. Still, she’d gotten herself clean, and Mia believed she might have made a success of it. Then, six months ago, she’d been diagnosed with the cancer.

  She’d managed the chemo, but the mastectomy and the oxycodone to which she was so highly addicted had pushed her back over the edge. Three months ago, she’d purchased oxycodone from an undercover agent, and that had been the end.

  But she was back in the hospital. Mia didn’t know what was wrong, but her intuition left her worried. At this stage in her recovery, no illness boded well. She made a mental note to track down Monique’s physician.

  And now here was Rory.

  You couldn’t make crap like this up.

  “But even if Mom gets better, she’s in jail for a long time. All I got is Jack.”

  “But if Jack can’t stay with you at the Murrays, where would he go if we find him?”

  He shrugged, and his eyes filled with water. Mia sighed. This was so not in her job description. How did one even begin to try looking for a homeless cat in New York City?

  “Please, Dr. Mia.”

  She smoothed his thick curls. She’d never find one cat in a city that must have a billion. “All right, listen to me, okay? I will see what I can find out, but you’re practically a young man and you’re smart. You know I might not have any luck. You promise you won’t be angry with me if I don’t find him?”

  He smiled a watery-but-genuine true, toothy, ten-year-old’s grin. “You will.”

  About the Author

  LIZBETH SELVIG lives in Minnesota with her best friend (aka her husband) and a gray Arabian gelding named Jedi. After working as a newspaper journalist and magazine editor, and raising an equine veterinarian daughter and a talented musician son, Lizbeth won RWA’s prestigious Golden Heart Contest® in 2010 with her contemporary romance, The Rancher and the Rock Star, and was a 2014 nominee for RWA’s RITA® Award with her second published novel, Rescued by a Stranger. In her spare time, she loves to hike, quilt, read, horseback ride, and spend time with her new granddaughter. She also has many four-legged grandchildren—more than twenty—including a wallaby, two alpacas, a donkey, a pig, a sugar glider, and many dogs, cats, and horses (pics of all appear on her website www.lizbethselvig.com). She loves connecting with readers—contact her any time!

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  Also by Lizbeth Selvig

  Seven Brides for Seven Cowboys

  The Bride Wore Red Boots

  The Bride Wore Denim

  Good Guys Wear Black

  Beauty and the Brit

  Rescued by a Stranger

  The Rancher and the Rock Star

  Give in to your Impulses . . .

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  EVERYTHING SHE WANTED

  BOOK FIVE: THE HUNTED SERIES

  by Jennifer Ryan

  WHEN WE KISS

  RIBBON RIDGE BOOK FIVE

  by Darcy Burke

  An Excerpt from

  EVERYTHING SHE WANTED

  Book Five: The Hunted Series

  By Jennifer Ryan

  Ben Knight has spent his life protecting those in need and helping abused women escape their terrible circumstances. He’ll stop at nothing to save the lives of his clients, especially the hauntingly beautiful Kate Morrison, a woman threatened by a man whose wealth allows him to get away with everything—including murder.

  Ben pulled in behind several police cars nearly thirty minutes later, their red and blue lights flashing. He turned off the car’s engine and sat staring up at the massive house. Morgan’s prediction played in his mind. This late at night, the woman meant for him had to be in that house. He hoped she wasn’t the dead woman Detective Raynott called him about.

  Evan Faraday hit Ben’s radar when Detective Raynott caught the case of a man found beaten to death in an alley after gambling with some guys in the bar, including Evan. That man was the son of one of his Haven House clients. Ben stepped in as a legal advocate for the family. The guy was only trying to scrape together extra money for his mother and sister. Evan played cards with the guy, but Raynott couldn’t link him to the murder. Not with any actual evidence, but the circumstantial kind added up to Evan drunk and pissed off about losing to the guy. Evan killed him; they just couldn’t prove it.

  More recently, Evan got into another bar fight. Donald Faraday paid off the guy with a heavy heart. He knew what and who his son was, but that didn’t stop him from getting Evan out of trouble. Again.

  Detective Raynott caught that case too. Ben asked the detective to call him if Evan got in trouble again. Ben wanted to take the selfish, smart-mouthed prick down. Then came the DUI arrest. Now he’d killed again.

  Ben got out of the car, tucked in his shirt, and straightened his tie.

  “What am I doing?” He was at a murder scene, not meeting a date for drinks and dinner.

  But she was in there. He knew it. Anticipated it. And hoped he wasn’t a fool for believing in Morgan.

  The anticipation and hope swamping his system surprised him more than a little. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted a woman in his life. Not just any woman, but the right woman.

  “I’m sorry, sir, this is an active crime scene. Law enforcement only,” the officer guarding the police line said. Ben noted the neighbors’ interest. They lined the street, whispering to each other and staring at him. Some in their bathrobes, others in lounge clothes. This late at night the sirens got most of them up out of their beds. In this neighborhood, a murder was the last thing they expected.

  “My name is Ben Knight. Detective Raynott called and asked me to come.”

  The officer held the tape up for him to pass. “He’s in the living room. Give your name to the officer at the door.”

  Ben did and stepped into the elegant home and surveyed the officers and crime scene techs working the scene at the back of the house and what looked like the entrance to the kitchen. He spotted Detective Raynott standing over a woman with long brown wavy hair, a baby sleeping in a car seat at her feet. With her back to him, he couldn’t see her face, but something about her seemed familiar. A strange tug pulled him toward her.

  “Ben, you made it. Thanks for coming,” Detective Raynott said, waving him forward.

  “Anything to nail Evan Faraday and see him behind bars.”

  The woman turned and raised her face to look up at him. He stopped midstride and stared into her beautiful blue eyes. Like a deep lake, the soft outer color darkened toward the center. “Kate?”

  He never expected her. Morgan had been right though—they’d shared a moment at a wedding reception for a mutual friend and colleague. That had been more than a year ago now. They sat at the same table and talked, mostly about work and how out of place they felt at the event, made even more uncomfortable when they realized they were seated at a table full of singles and the bride had arranged them as couples, playing matchmaker. They shared some laughs and danced, deciding to make the awkward situation fun. They fell under the spell—the music, champagne, the celebration of love—and Ben enjoyed himself more that night than any other date. He ki
ssed her right there on the dance floor during a particularly slow, sweet song. He remembered it perfectly. The way she stared up at him with those blue eyes. The way her mouth parted slightly as she exhaled and he leaned in. The softness of her lips against his. The way she gave in to the kiss with a soft sigh. The tremble that rocked his body and hers when the sparks flew and sizzled through his system.

  The startled look on her face when he pulled back just enough to see the desire flaming in her eyes. A split second later she bolted for the door.

  He went after her, but didn’t find her. She didn’t answer his calls over the next two days. He still didn’t know if he’d overstepped, done something wrong, or simply scared her.

  “Ben.” Her soft voice, filled with surprise, startled him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing here?” Her sad eyes narrowed on him.

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  An Excerpt from

  WHEN WE KISS

  Ribbon Ridge Book Five

  By Darcy Burke

  In the fifth novel in the Ribbon Ridge series, thrill-seeker Liam Archer will try anything once—except falling in love—but what happens when the one woman whose kiss is better than any adrenaline high puts an end to their no-strings fling?

  Aubrey Tallinger finished drying her hands and set the towel down. Lifting her head, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hazel eyes stared back at her and seemed to ask what she was doing dawdling in the bathroom when a perfectly lovely wedding reception was going on.

  Isn’t it obvious? I’m avoiding Liam.

  She was proud of herself tonight. She’d done a good job of ignoring the one person who always seemed to command her attention: Liam Archer. It helped to have a date along. A date she should get back to.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door. Liam stood on the other side of the threshold.

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the left through a doorway. He let go of her to close the door then stood in front of it, his blue-gray eyes narrowed. “Who’s the loser?”